


Staking Claims

by sardonicsmiley



Series: Claiming [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Rituals, Bondage, F/M, Marriage, Porn With Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-03
Updated: 2008-06-03
Packaged: 2021-01-04 07:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21193616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sardonicsmiley/pseuds/sardonicsmiley
Summary: He says, "I concede gladly to your worthy capture," managing to keep most of the sarcasm out of his voice, offering his hands to her.





	Staking Claims

**Author's Note:**

> Rodney and Teyla are getting hitched, in the traditional Athosian fashion.

The way it's explained to Rodney, the longer he manages to evade capture, the more blessed their union will be. It seems like that's kind of working against the cause, but there's no arguing with Teyla about it. After all, she insists she knows her culture better than he does. 

Rodney makes it until dawn, his body sore and aching, completely lost in the forest of New-New-New Athos. He's been up and down trees, forded two rivers, crawled through a briar patch that snared his shirt and left him with bleeding scratches across his shoulders and upper arms. All of Ronon's help paid off, and Rodney isn't sure if he should be thanking the other man or cursing him. It would have been a lot easier to just be caught immediately. 

But he hadn't. Instead he escaped and evaded. And for his trouble he has waterlogged boots, no shirt, stinging cuts, and a deep, leaden exhaustion in his limbs. And Teyla, dropping down from above silently, landing on his back, kneeing him in the kidneys and hooking her elbow across his throat. 

Rodney's breathe escapes before he can shout. He stumbles, Teyla yanking his head back while he collapses to his knees. For a moment she just holds him like that. He's trying to remember what's supposed to happen next. 

Teyla releases her hold, circling slowly around him. Rodney takes the opportunity to rub at his throat, blinking up at her, eyes stinging from sweat running into them. Teyla looks serious, save for the light dancing in her eyes. She's wearing her warrior's garb, her hair tangled and loose around her face. She is unwrapping a rope from around her waist, sliding it between her fingers.

Rodney opens his mouth, but she speaks over him, "I have captured you fairly. Do you concede to my bonds?" 

Rodney thinks about pointing out, again, how ridiculous this is. But she'd just frown at him and sigh and explain why they had to do this, and frankly, he's tired of hearing about it. Rodney heaves a sigh, wincing when the scratches across his chest and shoulders pull. He says, "I concede gladly to your worthy capture," managing to keep most of the sarcasm out of his voice, offering his hands to her. 

For a moment she just stares at him, her expression very still, her eyes dark. Rodney worries that he did something wrong, but then she exhales slowly, reaching out, wrapping her fingers as far as she can get them around his wrist. 

Rodney watches her draw his hands close, so that his palms are pressed tightly together. Rodney's fingers fold together automatically, and Teyla smiles, her smaller, darker hands momentarily covering his. Her skin is warm, her hands strong though they're so small. Rodney wants to reach for her, to get off his knees, where there's a stone digging into his skin, but he restrains himself. 

Her voice is very quiet, "I am glad." 

Rodney feels himself flush, both from the affection in her expression and the way she drags her eyes down his body. He has serious doubts that he's looking his best, wet, dirty, and bloody as he is, but she seems to have no problem with it. 

Teyla squeezes his hands, and then she is moving. The first loop of rope around his wrists makes Rodney shiver, the cool leather tight against his skin. Teyla works fast, her nimble fingers moving through the knots, almost too quickly for Rodney to track. 

When she finishes it is not just Rodney's wrists that are restrained. The rope was threaded down between his palms, wrapped tight around the back of his hands, the coil between his thumbs and index fingers. And there's still enough rope left over for her to hold it, tugging on the braid with a grin.

Teyla says, "Come, I will take you home," and pulls on the rope again. 

Rodney stumbles to his feet, making a face at the throb of pain from his hip and knee. This is a far more active marriage ceremony than he ever imagined he'd be participating in. Teyla's voice is softer, quieter than it had been, "Are you well?"

Rodney makes to wave her concern away, rolling his eyes when it doesn't work so well. "Aside from the fact that I feel like someone stuck a burning hot poker in my hip? I'm fine. Can we go? I'm pretty sure this chill is trying to get in my lungs." 

Teyla frowns, tugging on the rope, pulling him closer to her and walking her fingers over his hip. The look of concern on her face brightens when she hooks her fingers in the pocket of his BDUs. Her voice is a low tease, "Your hips will work later, will they not?" 

"Oh, god," Rodney can feel himself blushing, which is utterly ridiculous. "Let's just go. Please." 

Teyla smiles up and him, withdrawing her hand and yanking on the rope again. Rodney briefly considers that she might be having too much fun pulling him around, but then she's taking off through the woods, and he's more concerned with following her than thinking. 

Navigating around huge fallen trees and over rocks is substantially harder with his hands tied, but Teyla helps and guides him along. Rodney ends up, oddly enough, falling less on the way back. That's just as well. He's not sure his ass could take another fall. 

By the time they make it back to Teyla's village the sun is fully up, not a cloud in the sky. Teyla walks down the main street with her head high and her shoulders back and Rodney follows a step behind her, trying to mirror her posture. 

The Athosians are all gathered in front of their homes, throwing cheers and catcalls that have red creeping across Rodney's skin again. One elderly woman with wild white hair and not very many teeth is particularly explicit, and Rodney boggles at her, trying desperately to keep himself from imagining her in the scenario she's heralding. 

The air smells like smoke, sweet and thick in the humid air. There are streamers hanging from most of the homes, bright yellow and blue, moving sluggishly in the slow breeze. There's an air of festivity and celebration to the whole thing that Teyla had tried to explain, but that Rodney hadn't really grasped until just now. 

He feels slightly overwhelmed by the time Teyla steps inside her tent, drawing him in behind her. 

Teyla looks radiant, smiling, her eyes dancing as she pulls Rodney further into her—their—home. There's a mat set up in the middle of the floor, by one of the supporting beams driven deep into the earth. Teyla puts Rodney's back to it, her hands resting on his shoulders, pushing down. 

Rodney ends up sitting on his heels, making a face when Teyla pulls his arms above his head. It stretches his aching shoulders, pulling at the abused muscles in his chest and back, more discomfort than pain. He says, tilting his chin up to watch her secure his arms to the pole, "I kind of hoped we could skip this part." 

"The ritual must be completed." Teyla sounds amused, but also breathless. Rodney looks at her, trying to read her expression, still working on learning to see the emotion behind her calm. She looks happy, determined, and Rodney shifts around, trying to get comfortable. 

"Right. Of course." Not like there's anything he can do about it, in any case. He tugs on his arms when she steps away, moving past him, deeper into the tent. There's a little give in the leather, but not much. It digs into his skin when he strains against it, which is all the reason Rodney needs to not strain against it. He can just curl his fingers against the pole, and so he does, the grain smooth and polished from long use under his skin.

When Teyla comes back she is carrying a large basin, steam rising off of it, rags folded over the side. She sets it down carefully beside Rodney's legs, before kneeling in front of him. She dunks one rag into the basin, the scent of flowers rising off the water, saying, "Now your old life will be washed away, so that you may fully come into our world." 

Rodney says, "If you could just be careful of the cuts that would be—ow!" She cleans his face first, and Rodney hadn't even realized that there was a cut above his eyebrow until the rag rasps over it. His skin tingles in the wake of the clean water.

Teyla smoothes the rag out across his shoulder, the warmth of it soothing, though the sting of water in his broken skin is somewhat less so. It burns, even after she removes the rag, to rinse and start over, cleaning mud, blood, and sweat off of his skin. 

Teyla has to shift closer to clean his arms, and Rodney goes still, focusing on her. Her expression is peaceful, intent. She smells good, even under the earth and sweat smells that cling to her. The long strands of her hair brush against his cheek when she leans into him and Rodney feels a shiver up his spine. The gentle slowness of her touch makes him suck in a startled breath. 

When Teyla drags the rag down his chest, she pauses to rub her thumb across one of his nipples, and he bites his bottom lip. He's fairly sure that's not part of this stage of the ritual, but makes an effort not to complain about it. She moves down across his stomach before pausing, rising to her feet and moving behind him. 

The thorns dug the deepest scratches across the back of his shoulders, and Rodney curses when she cleans them. Drops of liquid race down his back, and he hopes that its water, though he has a feeling a few of the cuts might have been reopened. He can almost hear the frown in Teyla's voice, "These need bandaged." 

Rodney can hear her stand, and he knows for sure that bandaging is not part of the ritual. And honestly, she'd probably just hurt him more if she attempted it. She's better at medical care than she is at cooking, but Rodney has a sneaking suspicion that in her hands both of them are more dangerous than helpful. He says, "It's fine. Let's, uh, worry about it later." 

She hesitates, before finally saying, "You are certain?" 

"Yeah. Come back over here." There's another moment of hesitation, before he hears her footsteps return. She kneels in front of him again, rinsing the reddened rag out in the basin. Rodney has to look away, cutting his eyes to the side, squirming against the rope around his wrists.

Teyla's touch is a surprise, one of her hands cupping the side of his jaw, turning his face towards hers. She kisses him softly, her lips moving against his, slow and sweet as sugar. Rodney lets out a ragged breath when she pulls away, his hands clenching and releasing uselessly above his head, his stomach tight, filled with warmth. 

Teyla stays close, breathing against his mouth, running her hand down his neck, chest, stomach, curling her fingers over the waistband of his BDUs. He shivers when she opens the button, pulling the zipper down. She speaks, her voice close and low, "Lift your hips."

Rodney does automatically. Teyla kisses him again, both of her hands pulling on his pants, dragging them down to somewhere above his knees, before she braces a hand on his chest and pushes him back down. Teyla pulls away, sucking on his bottom lip as she goes, tugging his legs out straight and leaving him sitting on his ass. 

Rodney's boots are ruined, caked with mud and waterlogged. Teyla raises her eyebrows at him when she takes them off, and he shrugs, wincing at the pull across his shoulders. He offers by way of explanation, "Ronon insisted that marching around in the river was the best way to lose someone." 

After a moment Teyla nods, tossing the boots to the side, "He was not incorrect." She peels Rodney's socks off, and he doesn't even want to think about the sound they make, making a face when she throws them aside as well. And then she's pulling his pants the rest of the way off, showing no more care for them than she has any of his other articles of clothing. 

Rodney takes a moment to deal with the fact that he's sitting naked in the middle of a tent with his hands tied to what was once a small tree. His life is decidedly strange, but this seems kind of bizarre even for him. Teyla says, before he can start properly freaking out about it, "I will finish now." 

The water isn't really steaming anymore, but it's still more warm than cold when she carefully cleans his legs. Rodney jerks at the rough fabric sliding up the inside of his thigh, startled when a second later she's cupping his cock. 

Rodney says, "Um," not really sure where he's going with it, and she squeezes gently. The support beam is, thankfully, right there for him to thump his head back against, which he gladly does. 

Teyla presses close to him again, the rag sliding down to the ground, her fingers curling around him when she kisses him. Rodney groans against her mouth, temporarily worried that the exhaustion and pain are going to conspire against him, that he won't be able to get harder that this middle place that he has reached. And then her mouth opens against his, her tongue warm and clever, and that'll work. 

When Teyla pulls away she is smiling, what he might call grinning on anyone else. She shifts to her feet, and Rodney makes a short, frustrated sound, because she's warm and soft and he'd really rather liked her where she was. 

Then she reaches her hands behind her back, tilting her head forward as she unlaces the back of her shirt. Rodney's mouth goes dry when she slides the leather shirt off her arms, revealing her smooth dark skin, her full breasts, the curves and perfection of her body. 

Her fingers slide over her stomach, following the curve of the stretch marks left by her child, her expression momentarily going distant. Rodney jerks against the rope around his wrists, habit to reach for her when she looks that way, when she doubts, however briefly, her own beauty. The sound draws her eyes to him, and whatever she sees on his face makes her smile and toss her hair back.

Teyla's boots are flat-heeled and sensible, she toes them off easily. She's wearing socks from Earth, because while the Pegasus galaxy does plenty of things well, they don't quite manage socks, and Rodney watches, enraptured, as she twists one leg up, then the other, to remove them. 

When Teyla drops her hands to the waistband of her pants, Rodney holds his breath, biting his bottom lip when she pushes the clinging leather over the swell of her hips. She bends forward to peel them down her thighs, her breasts hanging heavy and full, and Rodney thumps his head back again. And then she is naked, standing without shame, a smile touching the corners of her lips. 

Teyla steps around him again, and Rodney does his best to crane his neck, trying to look over his shoulder. He has the sudden fear that she'll come back dressed, and is just about to voice his dislike for that idea when she returns, carrying another basin of water. Rodney blurts, "You're still naked." 

Teyla looks at him, mouth crooking, "Yes." 

"I just—I worried. That maybe you wouldn't be. I'm glad that you are." Rodney makes himself shut his mouth, flushing again. Really, he can't be blamed for not thinking clearly, with her running around all naked. She's gorgeous, and he's only human.

Teyla dips a fresh rag into her new basin, scrubbing at her face, leaving a wet shine over her neck. Rodney figures it's for the best he stopped talking when he did, because he's fairly certain his voice would have trailed off into a squeak at some point around here.

Teyla carefully cleans her arms, the pale cream color of the rag contrasting with her skin. Rodney watches, breathing through his nose, struggling to remember to keep his mouth closed. She spends much time on her breasts, thoroughly cleaning her skin, then working her strong, capable fingers over herself. Rodney's palms itch, his fingers twitching with want. 

When Teyla's head bows forward, a soft sound escaping her lips, Rodney strains against his bonds again, the leather creaking. Teyla looks up, still cupping her breast, her lips parted, the bottom wet and slick. Rodney grunts, "Fuck," yanking hard on the rope, ignoring the bite of pain down his arms. 

Teyla slides the rag lower with her free hand, holding Rodney's gaze until he has to look away, so that he can watch the sweep of it across her stomach, the swell of her hip, the curve of her thigh. She's slow and deliberate, cleaning between each of her toes, finally setting the rag aside. She stands, and Rodney drags his eyes up her body, hard and aching, dying for touch. 

Teyla stands over him, feet planted on either side of his hips. Rodney groans, leaning forward, kissing her high on her thigh, her skin warm and soft under his lips. He can feel her shudder, one of her hands finding his head, her fingers curling up in his hair. 

Her skin is sweet, scented from the water. Rodney presses open mouthed kisses across it, over the curve of her hip, pulling himself up, ignoring the flare of pain from his shoulders and back, to kiss across her stomach. 

Rodney makes it to his knees, his arms pined tight on either side of his head, his shoulders burning. It doesn't matter. He traces kisses across Teyla's ribs, trailing his tongue over the spot on her side that makes her shiver, pressing his lips to the underside of her breast, nipping very carefully on her skin.

Teyla makes a harsh sound, swaying against him, gripping at his arm with one hand, her other still tangled in the short strands of his hair. Rodney's neck aches from the angle he's demanding of it, but Teyla has sagged just enough for him to kiss up the slope of her breast, her skin soft and warm, perfect. 

Rodney manages to curl his tongue against her nipple, and she shivers against him, moving. Her hand slides down to cup his neck, and just like that she is kissing him, hard and sweet, pressing her body up against his as well as can be managed with him on his knees. 

When she pulls back Rodney is breathing hard, and her lips look kiss stung. She braces her hand on his shoulder, pushing, and Rodney sinks down willingly, hissing at the pain, shoving it aside. She slides down with him, her body pressed up against him, kissing him again, rubbing against him. 

Rodney groans, wishing he could touch her, shivering when she trails her fingertips down his sides, when she flattens her palms and drags them back up his chest, between their bodies. He can feel her nipples, hard, pressing against his skin. 

Teyla shifts, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone, to the cut above his eyebrow, to his temple, down to his jaw. Rodney twists his head to the side, trying to capture her mouth with his own and she grabs his chin, holding him where she pleases. Rodney swallows hard, bowing away from the pole, feeling the weight of her body against his. 

When she slides down, her mouth moving over his neck, it settles her in his lap and he groans, body tensing up. His cock is pressing against her thigh, her skin warm and soft and God, but he wants more. She nips at the little spot on his neck, right beside his windpipe that makes him see spots, and he makes a hoarse sound. 

She kisses him again, finally, her lips over his, and Rodney pours all the desperation and need he can into the contact. She makes a soft, surprised, sound, her hand curling around the back of his neck, her fingers strong and sure, pulling him closer. He grits out, when she pulls away for a moment, "I need—"

Teyla's voice is high, tight, "Yes," and her mouth is on his again. He feels her shift, one of her hands moving between their bodies, her hips shifting against his, her fingers on him and then, God. She is perfect. Hot, tight, wet, all around him. 

Rodney puts his whole body into pulling against the rope, barely hearing it when the wooden pole creaks. Teyla makes a pleased, thick, surprised sound, sinking down onto him, one arm around his back, gripping at his arm with her other hand. Rodney kisses her desperately, feeling her moving against him, up and down his cock, jerking and pulling with each shift of her hips. 

His muscles are screaming protests, shoulders, back, chest, all straining with the effort. His wrists are no longer aching, past into a deeper pain that he barely feels. 

Teyla is clinging to him, moving against him, her breathing stuttering and uneven against his lips. She's making sounds, soft and high, mingling with the groans he can't keep in his chest. There's some other sound that he can't identify, that he just doesn't give a shit about at the moment. 

Teyla gasps, shuddering against him, her mouth falling open around the keening sound she makes. Rodney kisses her, hard as he can, feeling her respond after a flurry of heartbeats, her grip tightening on his back. She pulls away from his mouth, pressing her face up against his neck, breath hitching with each roll of her hips. Her voice is thin, the words painted across Rodney's skin, "Will you give me a daughter?" 

Rodney grunts, seeing spots behind his eyes, bowing his head forward, pressing his face against her hair. He rasps out, "Not any pressure, huh?" And she laughs, sweet against his skin, her body shaking with it, and Jesus Fuck, but Rodney needs to touch her. He grunts, body tensing up, straining with everything he has.

Somehow, he had not actually expected the wooden pole to snap. Rodney shouts with surprise, momentum carrying them forward. Something heavy glances off his back, knocking the wind out of him, and Teyla squirms beneath him, and that's too much. 

Rodney comes, seeing spots, still breathing hard against Teyla's hair. When he settles, Teyla is rubbing her hands up and down his back, and they're still on the ground. Rodney blinks, shifting carefully up, wincing because his entire body aches. 

Their tent is sagging down in the center, the support pole in sad pieces. Teyla starts laughing, rich and full, and after a moment Rodney joins her, even though it makes his ribs hurt. Outside, people are cheering. Rodney tries to make a note to be embarrassed later.


End file.
